Fade
by Bobadoo
Summary: Take a breath. Now another. In and out. The dream is fading but you can stop it. You have to. Reality can wait. You're too busy living a lie. Sister fic.
1. Chapter 1

Hello! If ya'll haven't heard of me before, my name is Bobadoo (or Ashley whichever you please). This is my first attempt at a sister fic and boy am I excited. I hope you guys enjoy this. I'm hoping it's a different look at it.

Special thanks to **superloudean **for bearing with me on this. (I know it bothered you, admit it).

**I do not own Supernatural. Only my OC.**

* * *

><p><strong>~FADE~<strong>

_Normalcy is nonexistent._

Melanie opens her eyes, instantly awake and prepared to fight for her life. It's only when her alarm clock starts to buzz that she realizes there is no danger present. The feeling of darkness surrounding her, ready to pounce and snuff out the flame that was her life was nothing more than that, a feeling. It is the same feeling that has followed her for years, as present as her shadow and just as illusive.

With a sigh, she sits up and unwraps her fingers from the pistol under her pillow.

_Life is a series of complications, road blocks and speed bumps._

Silencing her clock with a slam of her hand, Melanie glances at the time. 5:01. She's been asleep three hours. Her body waits a minute, wondering where the urge to crawl back into bed was. It never comes.

Melanie slips out of bed, stretching her arms to the sky and cracking her back. They said it was a bad habit to take up, whoever they were. Then again, a lot of things were bad for you. Cigarettes were, too much alcohol, too much sun, too much of anything really. Living in ignorance was probably more dangerous than everything combined but no one ever said anything about that, probably because they were ignorant too. How she envied them.

_What we remember about it are the strange moments, the ones that took us out of our comfort zone._

She walks over the line of salt at the threshold of her bedroom, careful not to disturb a single grain. Walking down the stairs, she listens intently to every sound that it gives off, making certain none are out of place. The dead silence of the house is disturbed momentarily by a passing car. Melanie stops in place and waits, tense, until it passes by.

In the kitchen, she grabs a bowl from the cabinet. A flask of holy water sits just to the right, offsetting the cheerful red of the bowl. She takes a box of Cheerios from the next cabinet over. There, too, is a flask. Sitting at the table with all the ingredients, Melanie makes her simple breakfast, her hand never far from the sawed off shotgun strapped under the table.

_Life, itself, is not normal._

After eating, she goes back upstairs, changing into a pair of navy blue dress pants, a white camisole and matching blue jacket. She takes her wavy, brown hair and ties it up in a bun, leaving a little bit hanging by the side of her face. Flats are her shoe of choice. Never wear anything you can't run away in.

When she is satisfied with her appearance, Melanie attaches the silver knife to her belt and tosses an extra flask of holy water into her purse, where it rests with her lip gloss and compact mirror. With one final look at the mirror and a nod at her reflection, Melanie heads back downstairs again, ready to face the day.

_But if normalcy did exist, I don't think I'd qualify as a candidate for that list._

She makes sure every door is locked, that every window is firmly shut and every line of salt is untouched. Before heading out, she squints at the ceiling in the doorway. If one wasn't looking, the devil's trap could not be seen. Satisfied that every line is still intact, Melanie heads out the door, making sure it is locked, twice.

_My paranoia alone is enough to bar me._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

Melanie Windsor, formerly known as Winchester, fiddled with her coffee cup on the table, listening to the contents as they splashed about inside. She stared at it intensely, distantly wondering if it would eventually explode under her gaze. Her body was leaned back in the chair, looking relaxed but it was unusually tense. Mornings were always the worst for her, as though someone had hit the reset button and brought her fear of attack crawling right back into place. However, by the time she had coffee with Tiffany, her pale, wide eyed friend staring uncomfortably at her from across the table, the feeling had usually subsided.

It was not going to be a good day.

Then again, it was THE day.

Exactly thirteen years ago she had left everything she had ever known, ran away out of fear and frustration at her life. Sixteen was hardly an age to be shooting guns and learning how to take down things twice your size that were about to kill you. Neither was six or any other age in between for that matter. She had fought her father tooth and nail every day of it, never gave up, until finally she snapped and in a fit of rage hotwired a car, another gift from darling daddy, and drove out of town. Thinking over it, Melanie knew it was never intended to be permanent but as the days passed by, she came to realize he was not searching for her. He had made up his mind and, for once, she agreed.

Leaning forward, Melanie placed both elbows on the table and stared back at Tiffany. "You know, if you don't blink, your eyes are going to be stuck that way."

Tiffany blinked. She always was gullible, at least when it came to anything she said.

Matilda Margaret Lynn Johnson, or Tiffany as she liked to go by for reasons Melanie had yet to fathom, was a well to do librarian who lived on the East side of town with her equally well to do husband, their two cats and their enormous collection of paranormal memorabilia. She had been to their house a few times for dinner and always managed to leave more freaked out by that encounter than she had ever been with a ghost. It was because of their disturbingly easy acceptance of all things supernatural that Melanie had befriended them. Mostly it had been out of desperation, she had needed someone to confide in and Tiffany had been more than willing, though at times Melanie believed she thought it was all about as real as the plastic light up ghosts at Halloween.

"Sorry," Tiffany replied, her voice high even when lowered. Her fingers drummed on her own coffee cup, the French tips making an annoying click sound when they hit its surface. "It's just, you're awful quiet today."

She was always quiet, but let that slide. "Just a bad day is all."

Tiffany leaned in closer as Melanie took a drink from her coffee, looking like a girl ready to take in the latest gossip. "It was today, wasn't it?" She nodded. "I don't know how you did it. I don't think I ever could."

"You'd be surprised what you can accomplish when given no choice," Melanie said matter-of-factly. "Besides, it was all for the best. God knows where I'd be if I hadn't gotten away." Probably six feet under but she decided to leave that part out.

Nodding, Tiffany lifted her enormous purse off the ground and onto her lap. Some days, for pure entertainment's sake, Melanie would try to imagine all the weapons she could fit inside. It was a disturbing amount actually.

Melanie watched as her friend took out a handful of newspaper clippings. Crap.

"No, no, no, not today, Tiff," Melanie begged, waving her hands in attempt to ward them off. "Don't you ever get sick of pushing this on me?"

"Not really," Tiffany responded, shrugging. She had the look of a lost puppy, broken. It reminded her of a certain member of her family and damn if she could resist his look either.

To Tiffany's delight, Melanie offered her hand. "Alright, hand'em over."

It was a tradition that had started some time after Melanie had made her big confession to the girl. The first time, she just happened to have a newspaper on her and found an article that she took as curious. Showing Melanie, she had asked if there was anything paranormal at work. Of course, Melanie had never wanted anything to do with it but she had given in about as easily then as she had just now. It was harmless really, though quite annoying on occasion, especially in recent times. The number of articles had been increasing exponentially.

"Crazy guy, crazy guy, mishap, crazy gal," Melanie rattled off, a bored tone in her voice. "Accident, accident, whoa…what is that?"

"Did you find something?" Tiffany asked, nearly jumping out of her seat.

"Yeah, a guy with one effin' ugly mug. Heh, fugly." She looked up to a not very amused friend. "Sorry. Crazy guy, crazy guy, stupid guy and…"

Her body froze, all the blood in it having run cold. In the distance, she could hear Tiffany calling her name but she sounded so far away, like someone shouting down a busy street with no chance of their voice fully getting through. All she could hear was her heartbeat as it grew louder and louder, pounding in her head like the beat of a drum, threatening to shake her body apart.

…Monument, Colorado…

…police station fire…no survivors…

…victims include recently apprehended fugitives Dean and Sam Winchester…

"Mel! Melanie, for God's sake snap out of it! People are staring!"

Shaking her head, Melanie tossed the article aside as if it had burned her. Still, for a long time she stared at it, waiting for something to happen. Maybe it would move and attack her; maybe it would disintegrate before her very eyes. Or, the thing she found herself praying for, she would wake up, eyes wide open in her bed, looking around once more for the dark things that stalked her in her dreams. But none of that happened. The paper just sat there, taunting her in its silence.

"Melanie!"

She finally turned to Tiffany, eyes staring right through her. "How old is this article?"

"What? I don't know."

Melanie slammed her fists against the table, attracting the attention of everyone around them. "Tiffany, tell me how old it is!"

"A few months, maybe more," Tiffany finally answered, clearly afraid of her friend. Fear. That was an expression she was used to. People were always afraid of her family when she was younger. They were freaks, did things that normal people wouldn't do. Even when she had gotten away, she still received the looks but not for a while now. She had escaped. Seeing it again hurt her more than she cared to admit but at that very moment, none of it mattered.

"I have to go," Melanie stated, jumping from her seat.

"But what about work?" Tiffany shouted after her with little effect. Melanie hardly heard anything, hardly saw anything. Before she even realized it, she was in her car, driving down the street toward her house. The lack of car horns suggested that she was being less than reckless but for all she knew, she may have missed those sounds too.

It wasn't until her SUB pulled into the driveway, her speed so fast that the brakes squealed when she hit them, that Melanie became aware of her surroundings once more. She did not move, did not dare to breathe for a while. Her eyes just watched her home, a small two story with a wraparound porch. IT seemed innocent enough but then again everything had its light side. Some sane part of her screamed from its corner of her mind, demanding why she was afraid now when clearly the event had happened months ago. Melanie could not answer its intelligent please.

Reaching over to the glove compartment, Melanie withdrew a revolver. She approached her house with the same caution she would for one she had never been to, one that she was fairly certain contained something that would harm her if given an opportunity. It hadn't even been an hour since she left, certain that everything was safe. She was not proud of this paranoia but it was what kept her breathing all these years.

Searching every room cop style, Melanie slowly cleared her house. Nothing was moved, touched or out of any kind of order. It was quieter than normal, if possible, but that was because she strained to hear anything out of the ordinary. If she tried any harder, her mind would start to make up sounds and the last of her sanity would slip away.

Melanie sighed and dropped the gun to her side as her left hand dug for her cell phone. When the screen lit up, she noted a few messages from Tiffany and even received another one as she held it. The girl was going to need an explanation of some sorts but that was for later. More important things demanded her attention.

Out of the few numbers she had stored on her phone, there was only one that she had never actually used. It came to her one day as a random text containing a simple message: 414411N 732032W. They were the coordinates to Warren, Connecticut, the town she had been calling home for the past seven years. She guessed it was John Winchester's way of saying he still looked out for her because apparently a man that faced down the monsters in the closet didn't have the guts to give his only daughter a phone call. Of course, the only thing he probably ever feared was emotion.

Hitting the call button, Melanie placed the phone to her ear and waited impatiently. It rang for what felt like eternity, the sounds echoing through her body, making her feel empty on the inside. Finally there was a click and a voice, but not the one she wanted, not the real John Winchester.

"This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean Winchester. He can help."

Melanie ended the call and hit the redial button. Same result. She hit it again. And again. And again. On the seventh or eighth try, Melanie screamed at the recording of her father's voice. "Pick up the phone!"

His voice did not break or sway, as much as her actual father would have reacted. This time she waited for the tone.

"You goddamn son of a bitch," Melanie hissed. Her first words to her father in thirteen years and they were hateful, and they felt good. "Just because I left all those years ago, it does not give you the right to not tell me about my brothers. Sam and Dean are dead, Dad. Didn't you think I'd want to know? You couldn't even send some damn encrypted message, just nothing? I always knew you hated me but this…this is a new low."

She stared at her phone a while, feeling the tears flowing freely down her face. She bit her lip, hating it for trembling. Then with a shout, she chucked the phone as hard as she could into the wall across from her and fell to the floor, breaking down for the first time in years.

Regret was something Melanie experienced much in her life. She hated herself for leaving some days, especially for Sam's sake. He had only been twelve at the time. She had been the one to comfort him when their dad got rough, when Dean's emotional disconnect just wasn't going to cut it anymore. When Sam questioned why they did things, she was the one who stood up for him, took his side while Dean followed orders. It wasn't that she did not love her brother. Dean was her twin and they shared something that most people could not understand but there were days when she felt he had too much of his father in him for his own good.

Now what could she do? There was no reconnecting with family. They were gone, dead, lost to eternity just like their mother was. All that was left were her and John. He could have been dead, not if his phone was still up. However she doubted there would be an emotional reunion in their future.

The sound of her phone caught Melanie's attention. It was just a generic ring. She never could get into having some strange sound coming out of her phone, unlike Tiffany who had the Twilight Zone theme blare out of it.

Through tear filled eyes, Melanie stared at it, briefly wondering how it was even still working. She crawled her way to it, noting the name on the screen.

"Shoot," she mumbled, sniffing as she opened it. "Connor."

"Melanie!" He sounded way too cheerful, especially for a boss. "Where are you?"

"Umm..something…something came up and I…I don't think I'm going to make it in today."

There was a long pause on the other end. In the background, she could hear his office phone ringing. He was using his cell. That was unusual. "Are you alright, Melanie?"

No. Hell no. Absolutely not. Two thirds of her family had just been wiped off the map, just meaning months ago, and the only way she happened to find out was by coincidence through her eccentric friend, not by her father who should have honestly made that his priority. Maybe he was on another stupid revenge trip, ready to waste another twenty years looking for a creature that no one could find or prove exists.

"Yeah, I'm…I'll be fine. I just…I'm gonna need some time off…I need to go somewhere."

She could practically fell his confusion beat her through the ear piece. "Go where?"

"Monument, Colorado," Melanie deadpanned, slamming the phone shut.

* * *

><p>Connor Freemont sighed as he put the phone down. He looked around his office space. As large as it was, it felt grander now, far more open and emptier than normal. This was it, the day they had been waiting for. Now everything was coming full circle.<p>

He felt a presence in the room.

"She knows," he said. "It's starting."

The figure moved forward. "I know how difficult this must be. I'm sorry. If there was any other way-"

"Don't apologize to me!" he shouted, facing the man. "You wanted me to do this. You practically begged me to do it. Deal with the consequences on your own. I'm not here to make you feel better."

He disappeared then, leaving Connor alone. It may have been starting but he knew full well that it would not end the way they intended.

* * *

><p>Reviews are like gold. Please and thank you. :D Thanks for reading!<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Well, this certainly took far longer than I anticipated. Ugh, this chapter was being so mean. My muse also decided to suddenly go on vacation so you can blame her.

Thanks to **superloudean **and **Ziggymia123** for being awesome as always!

**I own nothing. Just Melanie.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

Melanie had been on the road roughly sixteen hours. How many of those she had been fully conscious for was debatable. There was a pile of empty coffee cups in the backseat which was starting to grow faster as her stops became more frequent. Caffeine was no longer cutting it. She briefly considered cocaine but that was the drowsiness talking, at least she hoped. God knows where she would find it anyway. She was in The Middle of Nowhere, Indiana. Population: herself and about a couple thousand trees but even those were starting to taper off as she got closer and closer to the rolling plains of the Midwest. She hated that. It reminded her of Kansas, which in turn reminded her of home, burnt and broken, dead and gone.

She took a long look at her cup and tossed it in the back. That was the last time she'd try anything other than black.

The emptiness of the highway was slightly disturbing to her. She was on the interstate after all, or at least she thought. It was almost noon. Not exactly rush hour but she would have expected someone. Maybe that was just her paranoia creeping up again. It was an annoying thing that had gotten her in trouble a lot over the years. Hell, it was what had her on this little road trip now.

With a sigh, Melanie allowed her head to bump the steering wheel a moment. What was she doing? This wasn't like her charging head first into the unknown on a whim. That was Dean's department, like a yin yang thing she suspected. She was the planner, always making sure the pieces fit, always knowing what to do. She had not even called anyone to ask if it was them, to confirm they really, truly, were dead. But she saw their names, their real names, not some hapless combination of dead rock stars. That was indication enough that something had gone wrong. And deep in her gut, she knew. Maybe it was that psychic twin thing (although it had failed her miserably when he actually died), but somehow she knew. Uncharacteristic it may have been but she had an excuse. It was acceptable.

Apparently the opposite could be said for John Winchester.

The car lurched forward as Melanie increased the pressure on the gas pedal.

At least twice an hour she tried his phone with the same results as always. She even tried the number he provided of Dean's but knowing her twin, he had probably lost this phone long ago. Not that it mattered. He was not the one who was going to pick it up.

Melanie tried not to scream out of the building frustration toward her father, but the effort was difficult to say the least. She desperately wanted to say there was an excuse for him not calling but this was something that he would pull. She could swear she knew a different man once…

_Dean had taken her doll, her favorite one with purple ribbons in her hair. Melanie chased him all around the house until she finally tackled him on the living room floor, smirking at the rug burn he got on his hands. They had started fighting then, exchanging hair tugs and arm smacks until the strong arms of their father pulled them apart._

_"What are you two doing?" John had asked with that booming voice of his. Both of them visibly gulped and came to attention like soldiers at boot camp._

_"He took my doll!" Melanie accused._

_"You took my car!" Dean spat back._

_"I didn't take your stupid car!"_

"_That's enough," John said sternly, causing the twins to quiet down again. "Now Dean, give Melanie back her doll. We'll go look for your car together. And please, stop fighting your sister."_

"_I can take care of myself!" Melanie stated as she ripped her doll back, sticking her tongue out at her barely older brother._

"_I'm sure you can," he had replied with one of his rare smiles. Both children looked at their father curiously. He was not a harsh man, just distant, somber. Moments like this left them confused. "But that's not the point."_

"_Then what is?"_

_He took her by the shoulders then, each hand larger than her face. His eyes got that look she had seen so many times. He was not looking at her but through her, at some place far away and well out of her reach. She caught a glimpse of the man he hid from the world._

"_You should never have to fight anyone for anything."_

If only he still held that belief. There were days when Melanie truly thought she had made that memory up. There was so little of her father left from the past, she found it hard to believe he was ever real.

"Turn right in two miles," a female voice stated in monotone, snapping Melanie from her thoughts. For a split second, she had no idea where the voice had come from until she spied the small GPS system in the middle of the dashboard. She gave the piece of technology a funny look until it repeated the phrase for 1.5 miles.

"Turn right?" Melanie echoed, looking over the opening countryside. She could see the overpass ahead. It would take her off the highway and well out of her way, north it appeared. If anything, she needed to head south. "What are you doing?"

She began to tinker with the buttons but unfortunately electronics were not her greatest ally. Any other day she would have preferred a good old fashioned paper map. That being said, the given circumstances did not leave her much time to plot a course. So after changing the language to Mandarin and figuring out how to change it back, Melanie determined her destination was the same but the route had somehow changed. At this point, the exit was almost directly to her right. According to the sign, it led to Pontiac, Indiana. Every instinct she had told her not to take it. Something in the device had probably malfunctioned.

'_Take it_.'

Melanie suddenly found herself swerving onto the off ramp, plowing through the patch of grass behind the exit sign. The engine roared unnaturally as the SUV was forced to turn and jump in multiple directions so quickly. When Melanie finally straightened the vehicle out, she could see clear damaged and tire markings through the rearview mirror. Her grip on the wheel was like death but her heart pounded ferociously with life. She drove like that for some time, with no thoughts to occupy her mind, no feelings at all save for overwhelming surprise. Eventually a flicker of life returned when she stopped the car and put into park, but even then she sat idle for some time.

"What just happened?" she whispered. The car gave no reply and neither did the voice that had only moments ago echoed in her mind.

Voice?

With a sigh, Melanie slid down in her seat, covering her face with her hands. That was it. She was crazy. The line, however blurred it had been in the past, had now been officially crossed. Keep firearms in every nook and cranny of the house? Fine. Memorize the methods to kill every kind of fairytale creature people could think of? No problem. These were 'normal' in her world but voices other than your own in your head was still a big sign that something wasn't right upstairs. Worse still was that she had listened to it, did not even hesitate. She couldn't explain it. Something strange had come over her and in that moment, it felt as though a hand had reached out and yanked her in that direction. Someone or something wanted her in Pontiac, Indiana.

God, how she hated thinking like that.

Peering through her fingers, she stared at the open road before her. The area looked innocent enough but that was how they all looked. Over the years, a hunter came to realize that most incidents did not occur in big, sprawling cities like New York or Los Angeles. They happened in small, wholesome towns and if Pontiac didn't qualify for that, she had really been out of it far too long. Monsters liked rural communities, places out of the loop and less inclined to attract attention.

Monument, Colorado had probably been such a place.

Melanie swore. Whatever was going on would have to wait. She was not about to abandon her family for a hunt. Even considering it made her sick to her stomach. She had only promised herself two things when she left all those years ago. One: never hunt again. That had already been broken about 3 years ago when a particularly nasty poltergeist was holed up in the local high school. It was not like she could say no, not when the damn thing was in her own backyard. But she had been rusty and it nearly got her killed. She had the scar on her abdomen to prove it.

The second was that she would never become like her father and what she had just been considering doing in Pontiac would have broken that one as well. But no, not this time fate. She still had some say in her life.

As she began to turn the key in the ignition, a clap of thunder startled her. Normally Melanie was not the jumpy sort but the sky had been stark blue just moments before. Now as she gazed out the windshield, dark, massive clouds circled overhead. The land had grown impossibly dark and if Melanie didn't know any better, she would have sworn a tornado was about to drop on her.

Curiosity overpowering everything else, Melanie stepped out of her car and watched the clouds. They seemed to be concentrated at a specific point, one that seemed to be just above a grouping of trees. Their movements were strange, not like anything she had ever seen before and part of her wondered if her mind was making this up too.

Then the ground began to shake.

Melanie fell back against her car, unprepared for the sudden motion of the earth. The movement became more violent as time passed and did not show any sign of letting up. She was about ready to watch the ground split into pieces and swallow her whole, but it never gave in.

Lightning struck somewhere nearby with a loud crack and Melanie ducked behind her car. The wind howled and the clouds began to spin faster and faster. A droning sound suddenly appeared in the background, somehow cutting through all the noises far louder than it. But its intensity, like everything else that was occurring, started to grow until it was a high pitch that threatened to burst her eardrums. Then there was what she could only describe as an explosion of white. That was it. Nothing else. It was all she saw and while nothing actually touched her, Melanie felt as though some kind of pressure was pushing against her body from all angles. She thought her body would be crushed.

It was dead silent in the veil of white, yet she still felt the pain in her ears as though the sounds had never stopped. She screamed, could feel her voice, though nonexistent, pushing through her throat, but it could not break through the barrier. Her head was throbbing, her body on fire. For a brief moment, a picture of her mother entered her mind, the flames licking her body, her scream. Was this what she felt? Was this how she died?

And then it ended.

Melanie's eyes flew open, instantly filled with the bright blue of the sky, greeting her as though it had been there all along. Her body was lying on the road a few feet from her car. She gasped as she sat up, looking around in every direction for…something, anything, but the land was as it had been before everything lost all sense. Even the birds merrily sang their songs as though they had not a care in the world. It made no sense but she was done with thoughts of being crazy. THAT was not something she could have made up.

"What the hell is going on?" she breathed. Carefully she stood, afraid that the earth would start to move again but that was not the case. She looked to the forest where the weather's rage had been concentrated. It too appeared unscathed but something about it seemed different. There was an air about it that was off, wrong. She took a step toward it, feeling the wind pick up as though it was pushing her in that direction. Melanie did not question it.

After crossing a small field, Melanie entered the trees. Again, nothing looked different or wrong for that matter but there was something lurking in the air, an energy, pulsing, alive. It made her hair stand on end and her pulse quicken. In her life, Melanie had encountered a number of supernatural occurrences. None of them ever really made sense but this was different. This was new and on a much grander scale than Wendigos and shape shifters.

'_Look to the left.'_

This time she did not immediately obey. Melanie turned in every direction, looking for the source of the voice despite it having clearly echoed in her mind. It was soft and feminine, like none she had ever heard before.

"Who are you?" she called to the forest.

'_The clearing.'_

"Get out of my head!" Melanie screamed, gripping her skull tightly. She sank to her knees, waiting for it to dare speak up again. Voices in her mind, exploding light, mysterious sounds, freaky weather, this was all too much. One moment she had been living a paranormal free life (or at least trying her best) and the next it is beating her over the head, making up for lost time.

When nothing happened, Melanie dared to look up. Between the tree trunks in the distance she could see the clearing that the voice spoke of. She stood again and stared at it awhile.

"I am so going to regret this," Melanie spoke softly as she began to make her way toward it. At first she thought it would just end up at another field but as she neared the break in the forest, her eyes widened and she gasped.

Trees, dozens of them, were lying on the ground, felled by some strong force, whether it was a storm or…an explosion. They all pointed different directions from the center of the clearing. Melanie picked her way across the trunks and branches, finding a lone, standing cross amongst it all. This was where they all pointed. She watched it a moment, slowly reaching for the cross when a hand shot out of the earth.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Melanie shouted, falling backwards. Her gun was in her hands before she had fully registered what was going on. It pointed at the arm that was slowly making its way out of the shallow grave. Then a head broke through the surface, gasping for air. As much as she wanted to help, all Melanie could do was watch as the man crawled out, grasping at the grass for some kind of leverage. Once fully free, he collapsed in a coughing fit. Her senses came back then and she put a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you alright?" she asked. He looked up at her, at first giving a glare that screamed 'do I look alright to you?' But then his eyes widened, his gaze softened to an astonished expression. When his eyes hit hers, it took all the strength Melanie had to not fall over. It was like someone had punched her in the gut but in a good way, if that made any sense. Her eyes brimmed with tears as she gazed at the impossible.

"Dean."

* * *

><p>Have a nice day! Thanks for reading!<p> 


End file.
